


Nonexistance

by perfectlygenericobject



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:36:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlygenericobject/pseuds/perfectlygenericobject
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You slip into the bathroom and turn the lights on, the brightness stabbing at your retina. You run your bony fingers through your hair and look up. What stares back at you isn't what you expected at all; it's someone with platinum blonde hair, fair skin, freckles, a red-sleeved record shirt, blonde eyelashes...</p><p> </p><p>((INSPIRED BY SOMEONE ELSE'S FANFIC))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nonexistance

**Author's Note:**

> aaa i remember reading this fic about dave who forgot who he was until he put on his shades but i cannot find the original author or title because i read it so long ago.. ; u ; enjoy!!
> 
> PS. IF YOU HAPPEN TO FIND THE ORIGINAL AUTHOR/TITLE PLEASE NOTIFY SO I CAN GIVE PROPER CREDIT thankies ; u ; ♤♡♢♧

Nonexistant.  
.  
.  
.  
====>

Snap. Your eyes are open, and you're laying in bed. The covers are messy; they're the cards suits. The apple juice stains are to be noted.  
Apple juice?  
You rub your eyes and slowly sit up. You squint, everything seems brighter than usual. From the screaming sun to the piercing colors, everything shouts "wrong" and you roll out of bed and onto the floor. You sit there for a while and stare at the comforter of your bed, your eyes trailing along the outlines of the diamond, and try to recall things from before you slept.  
Anything.  
You can't remember your own name. Who are you? You must've taken too many drugs. Or hit your head, or something.  
It's a while until you slowly stand up, stretching. Once you're lucid you realize one thing.  
It's dead silence.  
There literally is no noise except for your soft breaths and the floor which creaks when you shift. You stand completely still and there's just...nothing.  
No birds, flies or insects, buzzing, cars, radios, neighbors or people. The list can go on but there's still nothing. Not even air. 

"Hello?"

"Anyone?"

Your voice cuts through the silence so roughly that it makes you grimace, your own voice ringing and echoing throuhhout the house and coming back to you- it was so quiet that you've hurt your ears just by calling out.  
No one answers, and you're guessing no ones here because of the silence. Oh, have you mentioned that it's dead silent? Of course you haven't.  
It's silent.  
Something's wrong. It's bright and sunny out, shouldn't there be some sort of...sound? Like birds? Whatever.  
You slip into the bathroom and turn the lights on, the brightness stabbing at your retina. You run your bony fingers through your hair and look up. What stares back at you isn't what you expected at all; it's someone with platinum blonde hair, fair skin, freckles, a red-sleeved record shirt, blonde eyelashes...  
Red eyes. A beautiful monster.  
You blink a few times and raise your arm to confirm that you're awake and not hallucinating. Yeah, this is you, the red-eyed creature. You lean into the mirror and peer into your eye. Everything's the same as a normal eye except the unnatural red hue. You stare into the black hole of your eye called a 'pupil' until leaning back and staring at the ceiling. You then walk out of the bathroom and head toward the door, not really in the mood to go into thought as to why there is wires and apple juice boxes and weirdly shaped puppets- and- whoa, turntables.  
You step outside, expecting to feel and hear that cold rush of wind that subsides into a breeze that messes up your hair. But nothing.  
Not even when you swing the door open, you don't hear the air. Obviously you're not deaf, you can hear every little sound you make that slices through the unnatural odd silence. At least you're breathing, that must mean there's oxygen.  
You take a step outisde and look around. There's that big tree. The leaves of it are slightly swaying. Well, there's the wind. Each car is neatly parked in a driveway or by the curb. Odd how there's no cars whizzing by or no leaves fluttering to the ground; you live by a busy street.  
The sun is scorching hot and your shadow wavers. Heat. You should head back to the comfortable nice temperature of your home. That's exactly what you're going to do now.  
.  
.  
.  
You slam open the door, not even closing it behind you. Sometimes you feel like you're the only person left on Earth. Actually, you don't feel it. You probably are.  
You go to the fridge to get some applejuice. You have a weird craving, who the hell craves applejuice? Whatever, you don't give a fuck anymore. You're sweaty and tired and you just want the applejuice. But what you do NOT expect is for a hundred swords to come toppling down from inside the fridge. You curse under your breath and quickly retreat from the kitchen and into the bathroom. You take a towel and pat your face, then proceeding to fan yourself. You reach to put the towel back but something shiny catches your eye and you toss the towel, all cares gone. You take a closer look.  
They're aviators. You figure why the hell not, your eyes make you uncomfortable anyway so why not.  
When you put them on, you feel a huge rush of wind, and take a huge breath. The silence is now filled with chirping and distant voices. You look down from your window and see moms pushing their kids in strollers, kids twirling around and laughing and running, parents scolding, all out in the scorching heat-  
Bro's voice snaps you out of the little day dream. "C'mon 'lil man time for breakfast!" 

 

Of course, how could you even forget?  
You're Dave Strider.  
You adjust your aviators and go.


End file.
